


Words Are Not Enough

by steampunkepsilon



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, just cute drabbles, mildly smutty, newmann - Freeform, nothing special or plotty, soft early morning sexytimes and fluff basically, tattoo admiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steampunkepsilon/pseuds/steampunkepsilon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet morning in Germany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Are Not Enough

**Author's Note:**

> In which Newt likes to preen, and Hermann is thoughtful, and both of them are madly in love.
> 
> Slightly weird tense jump, done on purpose but odd. Sorry!

In many aspects, including sex, Newt is a bit of a showoff. 

Sometimes, in a perfectly normal fashion, he doesn’t like being watched, doesn’t like vague stares boring into him or expressions he can’t read burning holes through his skin. He squirms under the pressure of the disapproving glances and stern glares Hermann gives him when he’s said something out of line, or when he’s supposed to be working. But when those looks are fond or affectionate or aroused or anything on the positive side of the spectrum, he preens like a peacock, struts, flaunts every which way he can without being completely ridiculous to earn more attention; any opportunity for a positive spotlight is sought after hungrily, and he thrives under praise, practically on fire any time Hermann offers anything even remotely gentle in his direction. 

In bed, this does not change, and almost nothing he does is for his own benefit. Hermann has calculated out that at least eighty percent of any position they take is mainly intended to fluster him rather than please Newton in any way, although thankfully that is an invariable side effect. Because of this, he has indirectly forced his more conservative counterpart into vocalizing his approval or disapproval, and most of the time he can comply with that no matter how much more scarlet his face turns. 

Sometime, though, words are not enough. 

It was barely seven in the morning and Newt had already coaxed him out of his clothes with kisses and sleepy nuzzling and a wandering hand, and Hermann sighed in a mildly annoyed fashion even as the other man stripped off his undershirt and boxers, straddling his thighs. His tired grin in response could only be described as ‘shit-eating’ while he leaned across the bed towards the side table, pawing around for necessary supplies, the arch of his back purposeful and teasing. Hermann pursed his lips, watching him until he sat upright again, smug as he settled on his lap and got to work with the condom. Half-reclined against the pillows, Hermann barely had to move except to shift his hips a little beneath the weight, hands resting on Newt’s knees and watching him. 

Once he’d spent a ludicrous amount of time preparing himself (and displaying everything as he did so for Hermann’s observation, which resulted in a vibrant flush of red) he leaned forward to steal a brief kiss, and Hermann almost forgave him for the slick hand he set on his stomach for balance, only casting the slightest of irritated glances at the damp spot and leaning his head back. Eyes closed, he could pick out the shifting of the mattress and where Newt was moving, turning around until he was facing backwards and stroking him a couple of times slowly before pressing down with a rough, quiet noise of approval from both of them. Mindful of Hermann’s leg and the fact that the sun was barely up, he stilled for a moment, sighing contentedly, and Hermann glanced down his chest with one eye to where he sat, watching him in silence. 

Shoulders straight, back arched in, knees splayed out on either side of his hips and head tipped back and aside a little, almost all of it for the benefit of the onlooker, as per usual. Hermann reached to touch him quietly, palm starting at his thigh and sliding up, over his hip and up his side a few inches until he met the extent of his reach, fingertips brushing over soft, warm skin and ink. He felt him shiver, a little quake of appreciation, and he rolled his hips slightly but otherwise stayed where he was, usually more anxious to move but apparently still tired enough for a lazy morning shag. The room was dimly lit, drapes mostly closed but letting a few narrow shafts of soft light in, a faint highlight falling over Newton’s shoulders and bedhead. The lines of the Kaiju wreaking havoc across his shoulder blades brightened in the spotlight, deep red and blue hues carving out a memorial to the beasts of the deep over soft skin and angled shoulders. Shifting his head to the other side, Newt breathed deep and slow, as if not to break the quiet air, and Hermann watched his shoulders and ribcage expand with the motion, slight muscles beneath soft flesh shifting and twisting under his fingers gently. Other hand settled on his thigh, he lifted it to join the one, pushing both up his lower back and sliding them down again to his hips.

It had been six months since the end of the war, five since they had left, and four since Newton had stopped using the spare bedroom in his family’s ‘vacation’ home (note: never used) on the coast of Germany. Wounds were still healing, inside and out; the nightmares had almost ceased, occasionally rearing their ugly head for one or both of them, more often Newt than he but no less brutal in content. The cleanup project was still underway. Oceanic currents had carried the Blue farther than could ever be truly measured, and the Breach was still under observation, every tremor cause for concern.

But he had Newt. He had Newt, in his home, in his bed, in his brain, and although the Kaiju came with him, Hermann decided it a fair trade as he stroked his fingertips down the indent of the other man’s spine, cutting a line through claw and waves, and he shivered again lightly, shifting again atop Hermann’s lap. 

His fingers stayed where they were and Newt turned after a moment, watching him over his shoulder and sliding one of his hands over to grasp Hermann’s, squeezing gently and waiting until he had received the same and a soft smile in reply to exercise a show of perfect balance and lean half-back and half-sideways for another kiss. It was crooked and cramped and Hermann chuckled softly as he pulled away with a squirm, smiling more broadly at Newt’s pout, but the displeased look softened after a moment and he leaned in again. Before long, Hermann pushed him over, rolling them both back into the sheets with wandering hands of his own, and the rest of the morning faded into quiet chuckles and tired gasps muffled against the mattress.

Sometimes, words were not enough. 

And they didn’t have to be.


End file.
